


Reactions

by dafnesway



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick-centric, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jason-Centric, Kinda, M/M, Resurrected Jason Todd, he's also a police officer, i guess, idek, someone tell me how to tag, sort of, which is kind of an au(?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 03:44:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5728411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dafnesway/pseuds/dafnesway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Didn't you have enough last night, Jay?" he finally, finally speaks. His voice is raw, but steady, which really, really ticks Jason off.<br/>Or it would, if the whole thing made sense at all.<br/>"What the fuck are you talking about?"<br/>Dick smiles sarcastically at him.<br/>"Shoot me again, then" he says, calm as a stone.<br/>For the first time since... since then, he feels something other than anger. He feels confusion, he feels some sort of fear. It's such a relief his arm holding the gun shakes down a little, and he ends up pointing it at Dick's stomach.<br/>"I shot you last night?"</p><p>or the one where Jason comes back from the dead and decides to pay his older brother a visit</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Resurrection

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so (not) sorry

From all the reactions Jason could have gotten, this was definitely the least expected.  
He'd expected Dick to look shocked, confused, maybe even angry or hurt, but not this. He didn't expect Dick to look at him right across the street, unblinking, coffee still in his hand, right outside the police station where he worked (really, a vigilante _and_ a cop, Jason will never understand his brother).  
This is when Jason felt the thrill of anticipation. This was the shock, now Dick had to react.  
Except he didn't.  
He simply closed his eyes and then turned to enter the station like nothing had happened. Like Jason hadn't fucking came back from the dead. Really, what an asshole.  
He still feels the rage now, boiling inside. He should've done something right there, Dick couldn't simply ignore him like that, he couldn't simply pretend Jason didn't exist.  
No, none of that shit, he says to himself as he knocks loudly to Dick's apartment door. It was so easy to find it should be embarrassing.  
Golden boy opens the door and pauses, then sighs and goes to closes it.  
Jason doesn't even has time to think, his anger moves first. He pushes Dick inside and hears the door bang closed behind him.  
"What, you're just going to ignore me?"  
Dick keeps staring, says nothing. It doesn't make sense, none of it makes sense and it pisses Jason off. He's tired of things not making sense, of being alive when he should be dead, of being so angry at so many things that he shouldn't be angry at.  
Dick was supposed to make sense. Whatever the reaction was, confusion, hurt, fury, shock, it would've made sense. But this? This doesn't.  
"You let me die" he snaps. It's not fair, he knows. Dick had nothing to do with it, he wasn't even in Gotham back then. And it doesn't matter, not really, he's not even blaming Bruce. He doesn't care about that. He's just twisting the knife, fishing for some sort of answer. "And now you're ignoring me"  
Blue eyes look back at him, hurt, but also tired. Exhausted.  
Desperate times require desperate measures.  
Click. He gets his gun out, takes out the lock, and points it right at Dick's head.  
The bastard closes his eyes, rubs his nose, opens them again and fucking _stares_.  
"Didn't you have enough last night, Jay?" he finally, finally speaks. His voice is raw, but steady, which really, really ticks Jason off.  
Or it would, if the whole thing made sense at all.  
"What the fuck are you talking about?"  
Dick smiles sarcastically at him.  
"Shoot me again, then" he says, calm as a stone.  
For the first time since... since _then_ , he feels something other than anger. He feels confusion, he feels some sort of fear. It's such a relief his arm holding the gun shakes down a little, and he ends up pointing it at Dick's stomach.  
"I shot you last night?"  
He's surprised at how strong his voice sounds. His fingers are trembling on the trigger; they've never done that.  
Dick steps back and steadies himself on the wall. He looks down at his shoes, breaking eye contact since he arrived.  
"You did, but you _didn't_ , because you're not real" he takes a big breath, and then holds his arms around himself.  
Jason gulps, the gun feels heavy on his hand, like a weight he didn't realize he was carrying.  
"You're just in my head" Dick blinks at his hands. "Bruce was right. I should've stopped you before. I should've seen someone. I should have accepted you were gone, I should have stopped looking"  
Looking. Dick had been looking for him. Dick hadn't wanted to believe he was dead. Dick had nightmares about Jason shooting him, or maybe not nightmares, maybe something worse. More real.  
"It's the first time you talk" Dick whispers, probably to himself. "The best thing I can come up with is guilt tripping. How disappointing"  
Jason feels a bit annoyed at that. He's not guilt tripping, that had been his intention, thinking it would make him feel better. It doesn't, though, it just leaves him thirsty for something else.  
"Why did I shoot you?"  
He doesn't know why he's asking, he shouldn't care, but maybe he does.  
"Isn't it obvious?" Dick rests his head against the wall, his eyes now looking up. He looks almost like he's praying. "Because it should've been me, Jay"  
He doesn't realize he dropped his gun until he hears it hit the floor.  
" _No_ " he says, shaking, the tears somehow stuck on his throat. "No, Dickie, you fucking self absorbing bastard, _God no_ , never"  
His brother looks back at him in confusion, but before anything else happens Jason opens the door and leaves.  
Yeah, this was definitely the reaction he expected the least.

  
Jason has always been good at causing chaos. Bruce always noticed that, used to give him the task of causing a distraction, and Jason enjoyed it, he always did.  
So that's what he does. It's the best way he can think of to let his brother know he's alive.  
Okay, maybe not the best way. Maybe walking right at him in the middle of a police station and then point a gun at his head (not loaded, he's not _that_ stupid) isn't precisely the best way.  
Hell with it.  
Dick does the same thing again, he sighs and looks away, but Jason isn't fishing for his reaction, not anymore.  
He hears the hurried steps and then around six guns are pointed at him.  
"Freeze!" they say, "put the gun down!"  
Dick's shoulders tense up, and he looks around in confusion.  
"Officer Grayson" a black woman says, one Jason has seen talking friendly with Dick before (not that he's been _stalking_ , he was just updating himself). "Please step back. And _you_ , put the fucking gun down"  
Dick opens his mouth and closes it. Jason lowers his gun the slightest bit, just to calm the cops around him. Finally, Golden boy speaks; "you- you can see him too?"  
There's a pause, and Jason feels the temperature in the room dropping. The black woman makes a weird noise before answering. "...yeah? He was looking at you the other day, wasn't he?"  
Well, Jason has to give her credit. He wasn't expecting anyone else to notice that.  
Dick blinks, then looks at him.  
His blue eyes are filled with so much raw emotion Jason has to swallow it down.  
"Jay?" he asks, unsure, his voice shaking.  
"You know him?" another cop asks, but Dick ignores him.  
"Are you- are you really here?" then he seems to regret his question. He looks away, hands trembling. "No, I must be dreaming, fuck"  
"I'm here, Dickie" he says softly, and Dick's head shots upwards again, tears in his eyes. "I'm alive. Long story, maybe for some other time"  
This is when the anger should come. This is when Nightwing should lash out at him.  
Instead, strong shaking arms embrace him in a tight hug. Dick's hands frankly touch him, like they want to be absolutely sure. Finally, they resign themselves to his waist and his hair. Jason can feels Dick's sobs on his back, his hot breaths and tears on his shoulders.  
He hears the people around them asking questions, but he doesn't register it. He's _way_ too shocked to react.  
Scratch everything else, _this_ was the reaction he was expecting the least.  
He, slowly, lets himself return the hug. Dick's body relaxes when he feels his hands on his back. Damn it, when did he get this tall? He used to have to look up at Dick, now they're almost the same height. Maybe _Jason_ is taller.  
Suddenly his brother steps back, grabbing him dead on the shoulders. There's fear in his eyes, and Jason realizes, too late, that his hot breathing weren't sobs; he was having a freaking panic attack.  
"You were going to shoot me" he states, like it's the first time he notices.  
Jason points the gun upwards, and before anyone can tackle him, he pulls the trigger.  
Click. No bullets.  
"I wasn't" he says.  
Dick's stress leaves him in a second. He sighs, breathily, in relief. "You're not mad?" he asks, confused, but there's also hope in the question. And guilt, a lot of that.  
"Of course not, Dickie. The guns were for show. It wasn't your fault"  
The former Robin opens his mouth to protest, but Jason cuts him off.  
"And if you still feel it was, I forgive you"  
Dick's face softens at the words, his lip is shaking, small breaths still coming irregularly from them. Jason can't believe himself when he goes to hug him again, when he holds him against his chest so he can hear his heartbeat, when he caress Dick's hair and whispers comforting things on his ear.  
Scratch that, hell, _his own reaction_ was the least expected.


	2. The Haunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of dick's point of view thiS IS THE BEST I CAN DO FOR NOW I'M SORRY

Dick has literally _nothing_ to do.

Normally, that would be good, that would mean he can sneak out somewhere to sleep a little instead of filling his insides with coffee and hope he doesn’t collapse from all the wounds from the night before. It’s actually really impractical, because during the day he’s too tired to do something (he’s pretty sure everyone thinks he’s utterly incompetent), but not doing something all the time would drive him mad (if he isn’t already).

He’s Nightwing at night, and that’s probably the only thing that makes sense in his life because he’s free and he’s doing something right and it makes _sense_ , or maybe _he_ can _make_ sense of it, unlike Barbara or Jason or- _don’t_. Don’t think about Jason. Coffee. He’ll go get the coffee.

He makes his coffee like every morning and goes outside like every morning. Maybe the wind will help him clear his mind. It doesn’t, though, it never does, because if Dick allows his mind to be clear it goes back to that moment with the Manor dead silent and Bruce gone and Alfred holding Dick by the shoulders because he’s falling down, _falling like his parents_ -

Something protests on his stomach and he takes a big breath. _Get it together, Grayson._ He takes a sip of his coffee and-

_Ah, this again._

Jason looks different now.

He’s taller, older, with the scruff or a beard on his chin and his hair messy, but his eyes just as intense as before. The vision of him is vivid, detailed, as if his brain is taunting him with all the things Jason didn’t get to be, with all the things he didn’t get to say and-

He takes another big sip, closes his eyes and goes inside the precinct.

 

He sees him again that day, knocking at his apartment door. It’s a lot more painful to look at him so close, the blue of his eyes burns to look at.

He sighs, and tries to close the door, but Jason- not, not Jason, Jason’s ghost pushes him inside.

"What, you're just going to ignore me?"

His voice is rough, different, and still incredibly familiar. The sound of it makes his chest constrict painfully. He hadn’t heard it in so long- but _it’s not real_. Not real. Not real. Perhaps if he repeats it enough his heart will believe him.

"You let me die" Jason’s ghost says, the words puncturing his skin, twisting at his insides. "And now you're ignoring me"

He stares back. He suddenly feels cold, frozen, even.

Jason’s ghost takes a gun out, and points it at his head. He hears the click that takes the safety out.

Dick closes his eyes. The image is too real for a second, too painful, and too intense. He takes a moment to breathe it in, to stop himself from vomiting his own lungs. His lips part, but his lungs don’t come out, instead, he forms words, somehow.

"Didn't you have enough last night, Jay?"

Jason’s ghost looks genuinely confused. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Dick smiles sarcastically at him. He speaks a lot calmer than he feels.

“Shoot me again, then”

He doesn’t. Instead, he lowers the gun slightly, and asks, bewildered; "I shot you last night?"

Dick steps back and steadies himself on the wall. He looks down at his shoes, breaking eye contact.

"You did, but you _didn't_ , because you're not real" he takes a big breath, and then holds his arms around himself. "You're just in my head" he blinks at his own hands. "Bruce was right. I should've stopped you before. I should've seen someone. I should have accepted you were gone, I should have stopped looking."

He takes another big breath. This is it. He’s gone officially mad, talking to his own hallucinations.

"It's the first time you talk" he whispers, trying not to keep questioning his sanity. "The best thing I can come up with is guilt tripping. How disappointing"

There’s a pause. He wonders if the presence will ever go away this time, if it’ll stay with him forever, a weight on his shoulders, a cold figure behind him, haunting him.

"Why did I shoot you?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he rests his head against the wall, his eyes now looking up. "Because it should've been me, Jay"

A _thud_ resonates through the room.

" _No_ " Jason says, rough, broken. "No, Dickie, you fucking self absorbing bastard,  _God no_ , never"

He looks up, surprised, but Jason is gone before any of his questions are answered.

 


	3. Nice dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more on dick's pov  
> yes i will probably actually expand on the story later sorry if it gets repetitive i just like to write it

Even on his worst days at work, someone had never just walked up to him in the middle of a police precinct and attempted to kill him, and there are few things Dick can say have never happened to him.

He doesn’t need to look to know who it is, he just knows. Jason’s ghost doesn’t hesitate, he just points the gun at him, and Dick almost flinches, expecting to hear a loud sound, maybe pass out, or maybe wake up on his bed screaming, he’s pretty sure he’s awake, but the sole fact he’s having visions makes him doubt he can even tell what is real anymore, after all, he never thinks he’s dreaming when Jason takes his hands and they’re both engulfed in fire, or when Bruce smashes his brother’s head against the floor, the small hands of a child clinging to Batman’s vicious arms, or when Joker taunts him, his mouth covered in blood, when he beats him with a crowbar, and suddenly he’s Robin again and he’s scared and too small and too fragile, but then as he looks up is not Joker anymore but _Jason-_

A scream brings him back to reality.

"Freeze!" they say, "put the gun down!"

Dick feels his blood pressure drop in a second, he’s unable to move, to react. He feels as if he was gassed by Scarecrow, but worse, because what he’s seeing is not irrational enough to know it’s supposed to play with his deepest nightmares.

“Officer Grayson,” Leila says, stepping between Jason’s ghost and Dick, “please step back. And  _you_ , put the fucking gun down.”

Dick attempts to speak, but he’s unable to form any sound. He’s taught himself for very long to never, ever, freeze, to never let fear paralyze him, and yet here he is, rooted on the ground, his lips sealed together.

Jason’s ghost- or _Jason_ \- lowers the gun slightly.

He doesn’t hear his own words when they’re finally out. "You- you can see him too?"

There’s a pause. Leila breaks it. "...yeah? He was looking at you the other day, wasn't he?"

After a moment, Dick dares to look at Jason. He can feel something inside him shaking, something primal, something fragile, something that hadn’t moved in very long. "Jay?"

Someone else talks, but Dick doesn’t hear it.

"Are you- are you really here?" asking it makes it a real question, and he suddenly feels stupid. Perhaps he’s talking to himself in the middle of work, and someone will snap him out of it soon, or perhaps he’s having an actual nice dream, maybe he’s asleep over his desk right now. He looks away once more. "No, I must be dreaming, fuck."

"I'm here, Dickie" Jason answers softly, and Dick's head shots upwards again, tears in his eyes. "I'm alive. Long story, maybe for some other time”

No force on earth could had stopped him at that moment, he leaps forward, into Jason’s arms, and he’s real, he feels real, his skin and the muscles of his back, the softness of his hair, he buries his face in it all and cries and sobs and tries to breathe because he can’t seem to be able to.

Then he realizes.

He steps back abruptly, and grabs Jason by the shoulders because he doesn’t think he can stand on his own. "You were going to shoot me"

Jason points the gun upwards, and before anyone can do anything, he pulls the trigger. Dick is expecting a loud noise, he almost flinches back, but all he hears is a click. The gun was empty.

"I wasn't"

“You’re not mad?” Dick sighs, relieved, but confused, and still short on air.

"Of course not, Dickie. The guns were for show. It wasn't your fault.” He’s about to protest, but Jason cuts him off. "And if you still feel it was, I forgive you."

He’s unable to say anything to that, but he doesn’t need to, Jason moves on his own and wraps him back into an embrace, and for the first time in a long time, he feels safe, like maybe things will actually be okay again.


	4. Shards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i finally did write something different, does it advance the plot?
> 
> don't push me

It was a bright day in Gotham City. The sun was out, taller than all of the great buildings, illuminating the streets, the roads and the houses were quieter, calmer, small crime was still present, like a cold that never goes away, but the horrible sickness and plague that had struck Gotham time and again was nowhere to be seen. Sights of the Clown Prince of Crime were unreported, Harvey Dent was sitting on a cell on Arkham, the Penguin was idle, there were no rumors surrounding the Riddler, Scarecrow was well secured beside Two Face, overall, Gotham was silent, almost asleep, and as such, the city’s Dark Knight had withheld to his cave, still dressed in uniform, standing on the middle of the obscure shadows, like a statue.

Dick didn’t like the way Bruce’s eyes were absent, looking fiercely towards somewhere else, the way he’d moved swiftly when he’d entered the Batcave, quickly shutting off the monitors, he didn’t like the silence that hung the air, the weight on the space around him, as if the place itself was trying to tell him something, and if it could speak, Dick would most likely hear _he’s gone_.

“Bruce,” he approached, uneasily. He’d come here simply to visit, to enjoy these last few days of tranquility and relative peace, but he had been met with stoic stillness, “what’s going on? Where’s Jason?”

His adoptive father moved in a strange way, automatically, without emotion or thought or reason. “He’s not here,” he said, then started to stride towards the stairs, towards the Manor, “I’m busy right now, Dick, you should leave.”

He wished to protest, but Bruce didn’t give him enough time. He marched out of the cave, and soon, Dick was left alone in the shadows.

With an oppressive feeling of apprehension, Dick walked to the main monitors, and turned them on.

At first, he couldn’t understand what he was seeing, but slowly, he recognized Robin’s cape, his boots, the bright red and green and yellow, burned and tainted with blood. The pictures were atrocious, he could see Jason’s broken bones, his skin open with bruises and tortured by fire, the delicacy of his young features now marked with pain and death.

 _Death_.

Some of the next minutes are lost to him. He can’t remember doubling over, retching, screaming, he can’t remember crying or smashing the glass of one of the displays next to him, all he can recall is the agony on his chest, the way it expanded through his veins and all of his insides. He’d felt it before, dozens of times. The first time he was only nine years old, a little boy stretching his small arms uselessly, trying to reach out to his parents, to save them from their doom, but all the others that followed had never made him lose it like the first, they had never reduced him into pieces like that, he’d came to think grieving was easier the more you do it.

It wasn’t.

Turns out he just hadn’t lost a little brother before.

At some point, Alfred’s voice came to him, throughout the cracks of his mind, he felt his hands, gently being placed on his shoulders. “Master Dick,” he said, voice rough, on the verge of his own tears, “now, please, Batman’s old uniform is not at fault.”

He looked over himself. His hands were covered in blood, and at his feet laid shards of glass, along with the long black cowl. Alfred’s face came into view, and he couldn’t manage a response, he simply threw himself at his arms, and the older man, with a heavy sigh, placed his hands on his hair and back as Dick cried his soul out.

Outside, the sun was still out, and the streets were still quiet, the people were still safe, happy, smiling, the world seemed to be unaware of the tragedy that had occurred, it simply went on, as it always does, but a part of Dick didn’t, a part of him stayed in that room, engulfed in darkness, with the broken pieces of his heart laying across the cold floor.


	5. Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sappy or poetic? a good ending or unsatisfying?  
> please let me know bc the gods know i don't

Dick has done a lot of things for Jason in the past.

He’s taught him acrobatic moves, he’s defended him against Two Face, Penguin, even Bruce himself.

He’d never really made him crash against a window, though.

It’s his own fault, really, after Dick offered him a bed and got him out of jail (well, sort of, they didn’t really have anything to arrest him for, but if they did, they’d realize that he’s technically dead, so Dick managed to convince them, somehow, that it was just a big prank, which is true, in a way) the least he could do was stay for the night and explain everything in the morning.

Jason has never been good at doing what he was supposed to do.

He did feel a little guilty (just a little), but still he took the small backpack he’d been carrying, put on his helmet, and stole one of Dick’s jackets.

 _Borrowed_ , borrowed, he didn’t steal it.

There’s simply no point on explaining, Dick would never understand.

He didn’t make it very far anyway.

As he was moving from one building to the next, his line was cut, and he was swung directly to a wall. At the last moment, he’s able to kick himself upwards, and smashes through the glass unto the floor. He hits his head on the fall, and promptly takes off his helmet, groaning, then he hears Dick’s voice behind him. “Jay.”

He turns around slowly. “What happened with not using names on the field?” When his eyes finally land on his brother, he almost regrets leaving without saying goodbye.

Nightwing looks different, not just because of how the uniform has more black than blue now, but simply the way he stands, obscured by the shadows. He’s scarier, tougher.

For the criminals, or course, Jason knowns he doesn’t need to be afraid of him.

Right?

“I’m sorry, would you prefer _dick_?”

He bites off the very obvious retort to that. “I was going to call,” he says instead.

He’s lying. He had absolutely no intention to call.

“No, you weren’t.”

Dick knows him too well.

Which also means he knows how to surprise him.

Nightwing moves like lightning. If he ever thought he was fast before, now he can barely see him as he jumps towards him.

Right, towards him. Jason doesn’t exactly react on time, he only manages to get kicked in his arms rather than his chest. Still, Dick does what he’d meant to do, and they both fall to the floor with a heavy sound.

What he tries to do next, Jason remembers. Dick pins one of his arms above his head, and he almost laughs; he’s using a technique Jason used to struggle against when they were training, years ago.

He doesn’t struggle anymore, he kicks his brother off him. Dicks maneuvers behind him as he stands up.

“I’ve been alive for a while, Dicky,” he spats at him. He still remember the overwhelming jealousy he used to feel, how inadequate he thought he was every time Dick beat him when they were practicing. “I’m not the same kid you knew.”

Dick huffs. His eyes had already looked angry before, now he seems furious. “Oh yeah? Did you ever care to mention it?”

They both step towards each other at the same time. Hits are blocked, stares are met.

“Oh please,” Jason dares to move closer, trying to win the push by pure strength. He used to be weaker than Dick, but maybe not anymore. “Don’t pretend you care now, you always hated me for taking your place.”

His words don’t have the effect he was hoping for; instead of faltering, Dick narrows his eyes and, with a sudden burst of resolve, pushes him harder. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jason staggers back, Dick takes the chance to try to kick him.

Jason doesn’t really think on what he’s doing until his swift blow is blocked, inches away from Dick’s neck.

It gives him away. He knows it gives him away.

Dick lets out a small breath, surprised. “Ra’s?“ he asks, unsure and yet certain. They both know how the League of Assassins fight, they both know Jason just used one of their techniques.

There’s no hiding it now.

“Talia,” he admits.

“ _What?_ ”

The fight stops for a moment. Dick just stands there, bewildered, and obviously displeased.

For some reason, Jason feels a need to justify himself. “She’s helped me. She betrayed her father to do so. She got me into the Lazarus pit...”

“ _Oh my God_.”

“...She’s trained me and-”

“ _Trained you?_ To do what? Murder?”

Jason doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to.

Now his brother looks utterly horrified. Jason takes that chance to strike, he tackles him, and they both roll unto the floor. Dick wraps his legs around Jason’s waist and rolls them so he’s the one on top. Jason groans when a punch connects with his jaw.

It’s at that moment that he realizes, he can’t win. Yes, he’s stronger now, but so is Dick, and he hasn’t been losing time being dead. There’s a new viciousness to the way he fights, he’s more decisive, faster, he moves in ways you never expect him to.

So Jason reaches behind his back, and grabs the handle of his gun.

In one swift motion, right when Dick seems to think he’s finished, he points at his abdomen.

The place is precise. Talia taught him that if he shoots there, it won’t be lethal unless the victim bleeds out.

Dick lets out a small gasp of breath. “So this is what you do now, huh?” He looks down at the gun, and, surprisingly, laughs. “Well, it’s nice to know that you still care about my life.”

Jason’s grip on the gun tightens.

Dick sighs heavily. He suddenly looks exhausted. “Is this really what you want to be, Jay? A murderer?”

It’s been a while since Jason has lost his temper, defending himself impulsively without reason.

Of course it’d be Dick that would cause that reaction.

“How many lives does _he_ need to take away before you realize someone has to take him out, Dick?” he moves forward. Now their faces are just inches apart, the gun embed on Dick’s stomach. “How many more kids does he have to torture? How many more does he need to cripple? How many Robins does Batman need to lose?”

Dick’s lip quivers at his words, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse, rough and broken. “So is this what this is about? Revenge?”

“ _No!_ ” Jason grabs his brother’s arm, tightly, his nails almost opening the skin underneath them. “This is about justice, this is about not letting what happened to me happen to anyone else. You’ll never understand.”

“Never understand?” Dick draws back, in one instant, his eyes fill with tears, his words break into a small sob. “ _I killed Joker_.”

He’s lying. He has to be. Jason knows Joker is alive.

He feels betrayed. “Don’t lie to me, Dick.”

His brother stares at him, the blue on his iris is burning. “I did. Bruce saved him, he gave him CPR. I beat him to death, I hit him until he stopped breathing, and _I liked it_. I’d wanted to do that for so long after he took you, I never thought I had it in me, but once I started, I couldn’t stop. Then I realized, he’d won. I had done exactly what he wanted.”

For once, Jason is left speechless.

Dick takes the gun on his hands and, before Jason can react, moves it up to his chest. “I’m a murderer, Jay, shouldn’t I be taken out too? Where’s the line?”

Only silence follows. Jason can practically hear his brother’s heart beating against the weapon on his hand.

“Aren’t you afraid...” Dick says, all the anger evaporates out of him in an instance, “...you won’t see it?”

Jason stops for a moment.

Dick does understand, against all expectations, and now, Jason thinks he does too. He grew up on the streets of Gotham, alone with all the filth, the corruption, all the shadows of the city, but Dick? Dick grew up traveling with his family, every night seeing people smile, laugh, he grew up with love and compassion, it’s no wonder he doesn’t see a line, a line that is so clear to Jason, because he grew up seeing people cross it, because he’s been to the same places people like Joker have been to.

 “I see it just fine, Dicky.”

Jason lets go of the gun.

Dick’s shoulders slump, and he closes his eyes. He too, lets the weapon fall to the floor.

“You’re going after him, aren’t you?” he leans forward, their foreheads touch for a few seconds. “You’re going after both of them.”

 “I need to do it.”

Dick sighs, and slowly backs up, opening his eyes. “I know.”

There’s a pause, before Jason stands up and grabs his helmet, before he walks up to the broken window.

He wants to say something, to thank him, or that he’ll be back, or that he loves him.

Instead, he hears Dick’s voice behind him. “Don’t die, little wing.”

He smiles, and jumps off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm almost sure this will be the final chapter, almost  
> so thank you all very much for reading! i had a blast writing this nonsensical story
> 
> also! this was based off red hood the lost days and that comic where nightwing kills joker after he thinks joker killed tim on the last laugh


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